A TRUE DESCRIPTION of unthankfulness: Or an enemy to Ingratitude.  
Compiled by Nicholas Breton Gent.  
AT LONDON: Printed by Thomas Este. 1602.   


M.  
M MORE worth than Virtue, can no creature know,  
A A Phoenix in the world there is but one:  
R Rare is the Bird, and though there be no more,  
Y Yet may you find her when you are alone.   

G.  
G GREAT is the Grace that in the spirit liveth,  
A And such a life is worthy honours love:  
T The perfect good that heavenly mercy giveth,  
E Elected Virgins in the heavens above.    

To the Right Worshipful, Virtuous, and Noble minded Gentlewoman, Mistress Mary Gate, Daughter to that true worthy Knight of Honourable remembrance Sir Henry Gate of Semer. N. B. wisheth all happiness on Earth and Heaven hereafter.  
A Virtuous mind can not be without her honour, nor, an ungrateful spirit without a burden of Conscience: the first in yourself is made manifest to many, the second, in myself, I wish not to live to be touched with, but yet, not able to requite those your Honourable favours that I have received yet undeserved, give me leave in this little fruit of my labour, to present you with this token of my thankfulness, wherein treating only of the vile Nature of Ingratitude, I hope not to be found guilty in that offence. And so, wishing you your desert of Honour, of the best minds, and the ungrateful, the plague of an unquiet Conscience, or amendment of their evil conditions, in continual prayer for your hearts ever Contentment, I rest.  
Yours bounden to command Nicholas Breton.   

To the Reader.  
HE that is unthankful for a good turn, showeth the venom of a vile Nature, and he that is kindly grateful, is worthy to be beloved: if you be of the last condition, I commend you, if of the first, God amend you: What you are I know not, but I hope the best, the worst I desire not to hear off. And therefore, in brief, the Treatise being short, I will not trouble you to long, but as I find your kindness, will rest in thankfulness.  
Your friend Nicholas Breton.   

Ingratis servire Nefas.  

OF all the sins that ever reigned,  
Since wickedness her world began:  
That Nature's beauty most hath stained,  
Within the wretched heart of Man:  
And nearest doth to hell allude,  
Is that of fowl Ingratitude.   

It kills the Eye of Reason's sight,  
With fowl oblivions foggy mists:  
And makes the spirit to delight,  
But in the harms of had I wists:  
And mires the soul in sins fowl flood,  
While lack of grace, can see no good.   

It studies only to destroy,  
A gentle spirit with despite:  
And knows no part of Heavenly joy,  
That pleads so in the devils right:  
It is a hag, that heavens do hate,  
And, dwells, but with the Reprobate.   

It bringeth forth such shameful Evil,  
Out of the shameless wicked mind:  
As by suggestion of the Devil,  
Makes Nature go against her kind:  
When Men that should be Virtues friends,  
Become but Machavilian fiends.   

There is no thought can be so vile,  
Nor word can sound so ill a worth:  
Nor cursed state, so ill a style,  
As can Ingratitude set forth:  
Which was the curse of Adam's seed,  
And never since did better deed.   

Where it doth once infect the heart,  
The Son doth wish the Father's death:  
The Wife doth seek the Husband's mart,  
The Brother stops the Sister's breath:  
The Neighbour, and the nearest friend,  
Will plot each others speedy end.   

It makes the Servant to forget,  
His duty to his masters love:  
The Subject all his wits to set,  
Rebellion to his Prince to prove:  
The Villain for a Comfortlent,  
For to betray the Innocent.   

It maketh Man forget his God,  
In whom alone he hath his being:  
His Comfort and his Mercies Rod,  
Whereof his Soul can have no seeing:  
Until to late in hell he finds,  
How God doth hate ungrateful minds.   

Oh what it doth, or doth it not?  
That may agrieve an honest mind:  
To see the power that Sin hath got,  
Upon the curse of human kind:  
While Comfort, Kindness, Care, and Cost,  
Upon unthankfulness are lost.   

Oh Hellish Worm, that eats the womb,  
Wherein it lay, to look abroad:  
And plots the Mean to make his Tomb,  
Whose house had been his chief abode:  
While faithless friends make hellish fiends,  
God send all judasses' such ends.   

A King that on a time ordained,  
A punishment for every vice:  
Was asked, why he did refrain?  
On this to set down his device:  
It is quod he, beyond my wit,  
I leave to God to punish it.   

As who should say, the sin were such,  
As did all other so exceed:  
That were the torment near so much,  
It were no more than it did need:  
That all the world might warning win,  
To fly the thought of such a sin.   

Oh, how much worse than any Beast,  
It makes the shape of Man to prove?  
For shape is most, and Man is least,  
That so doth serve from Nature's love:  
And in the hate of honour's Nature,  
Becomes the worst of any creature.   

Fie, fie, upon Ingratitude,  
The Sin of Sins that ever was:  
That doth the soul to much delude,  
And brings the world to such a pass:  
That lack of loves Gratuity,  
Hath almost worn out Charity.   

Of Worms, the Viper is the worst,  
That eats the Bowels that did breed him:  
Of Birds, the Cuckoo most accursed,  
That kills the Sparrow that did feed him:  
And is not Man more half a Devil?  
That so requiteth good with Evil?   

A poor Man going to a wood,  
Within the Snow an Adder found:  
When, wishing how to do it good,  
Did take it up, from off the ground:  
And fearing of no future harm,  
Did in his bosom keep it warm.   

But coming home unto the fire,  
No sooner he had loosed his Coat:  
But, to requite his kind desire,  
The Adder bit him by the throat:  
Now whereto doth this tale allude?  
But only to Ingratitude:   

There was a Lion as I read,  
Who had a Thorn got in his foot:  
Which in his travail fore did bleed,  
While to his heart the pain did shoot:  
With which, unto his Den he came,  
And fell to licking of the same.   

When, as he stood he spied a Man,  
Who had been thither fled for fear:  
And in his heart, with grief began,  
To mourn his hapless being there:  
Yet, seeing how the Lion stood,  
Adventured to do him good.   

And feeling softly where it stuck,  
So cunningly did beat about:  
As with his mouth first fell to suck,  
Then, with his Teeth, did get it out:  
And after did such help apply,  
That he was eased by and by.   

And when the Lion felt such ease,  
He reached him out a Princely Paw:  
As who should say to such as please,  
I carry comfort in my Claw:  
And to requite his kindness then,  
He led him forth out of his Den.   

And brought him through a wilderness,  
Into a high way, near a town:  
When in a Princely gentleness,  
Before his face, he sat him down:  
And with his Paw as Poets tell,  
Did give a Kingly kind farewell.   

Now shortly after it befell,  
This Lion was by hunters caught:  
And as the story seems to tell,  
Unto an Emperor was brought:  
And with great joy and jollity,  
Presented to his Majesty.   

Which Lion kept, as others are,  
That so are caught, and so are brought:  
To seed upon such hungry fare,  
As, tameness had his stomach taught:  
Did live such Traitorous hearts to tear:  
As to such death condemned were.   

Whete Long this Lion had not been,  
But that the Man that healed his wound:  
Whose Eye had never Treason seen,  
Nor Spirit such a thought had found:  
Injuriously was apprehended,  
And unto such a death condemned.   

Who being brought unto the Den,  
Whereas the Lion fiercely stood:  
To tear in pieces, those ill men,  
That fed him with their poisoned blood:  
Before his face did kindly stand,  
And pawde and licked him on the hand.   

The lookers on amazed to see,  
The Lion thus the Man entreat:  
Did wonder what the cause should be,  
His love to him should be so great:  
And to the Emperor did tell,  
What all before their Eyes befell.   

Who coming thither to behold,  
The truth of that he thus had heard:  
And seeing still the prisoner hold,  
His place with him: a great reward  
Did promise him, the cause to show,  
That made the Lion use him so.   

When, of the Lion, taking leave,  
With kissing of his Kingly foot:  
To make his Majesty conceive,  
The truth of all even from the root:  
He ripped up all that he had done,  
Whereby this Lions love beegunne.   

The Emperor well pleased to hear,  
How every point and part did grow:  
Before his presence made appear,  
The wretches that had wronged him so:  
And threw them in his wrathful power,  
Unto the Lion to devower.   

Who spared none but slew them all,  
The Man was Royally rewarded:  
The Note to this effect did fall,  
That thankfulness was much regarded:  
The Lion still remained his friend,  
And so the story made an end.   

Oh Lord that ever Man should live,  
In hate of loves forgetfulness:  
And that a Lion's love should give,  
Such notes of Noble thankfulness:  
Which all in one do but conclude,  
The Princely grace of Gratitude.   

Then, show no Vipers venum vile,  
To gnaw the bowels, that did breed thee:  
Nor Cuckoo like, do love beguile,  
To kill the Sparrow that did feed thee:  
But Lionlike do thankful prove,  
To him that hath deserved thy love.   

Remember what thou hast Received,  
Of whom, why, how, and what, and where:  
And, let it be, as well perceived,  
Thou dost return thy kindness there:  
That perfect thankfulness may prove,  
The Nature of the Lion's love.   

If that thou find thy Mistress kind,  
Dishonour not her quality:  
If that a noble friend thou find,  
Scoff not his liberality:  
If mean men buy thy company,  
Requited them not with villainy.   

If that thy Father do commend thee,  
Be thou not bad to show his blindness:  
And if thy friend a saddle lend thee,  
Steal not his Horse to quite his kindness:  
But chiefly do not seek his blood,  
Whose love hath lived to do thee good.   

Forget not God, that gave thee life,  
Defame not him that is thy friend:  
Be not unfaithful to thy wife,  
And hold on honest to the end:  
For when the Knaves be all discarded,  
A poor small tromp may be regarded.   

Do not with Coneys undermine,  
The Castle where thy Captain lives:  
Nor Counterfeit with a Divine,  
To cheat the Charity he gives:  
Lest when the world doth see thy shame,  
Both God and Man do hate thy name.   

Leave not a Man to seek a beast,  
A Monster is nor flesh, nor fish,  
And where thou hast received a feast,  
Return not home a poisoned dish:  
Lest they that find thy hellish Nature,  
Do hold thee for a hateful Creature.   

In sum, for all let this suffice,  
To warn thee from Ingratitude:  
Behold it with your inward Eyes,  
And let it not your soul delude:  
For Truth doth write that Time may reed,  
It is a graft of Graceless seed.   

Which grows but in a wicked ground,  
And bears no fruit but Infamy:  
And many times is blasted round,  
With Hellish breath of Blasphemy:  
Yet with ill humours moistened so,  
As makes it wickedly to grow.   

But from this wicked Hellish thing,  
That so infects the mind of Man:  
And with a most infernal sting,  
The woeful state of Life began:  
And doth abuse good Creatures thus,  
Good Lord of such deliver us.   
FINIS.